


Delta Arrow

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pon Farr, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vorik’s first pon farr is somewhat trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delta Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Mildly AU, as I’m handling Vorik’s pon farr differently than canon.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Vorik spends the next forty-seven seconds finishing up his adjustment of the power relay subroutine on Deck Eleven. When the procedure is complete, he spends twelve seconds looking at his hands, which twitched slightly beyond his control barely a moment before. As he watches them, they’re perfectly still. He’s sure he saw them flex. 

He has the distinct urge to go to the bridge for no apparent reason, which is every bit as unnerving as his perceptible nerve spasm. As far as he knows, there is nothing wrong with him. His last physical revealed no abnormalities of any kind, and that was two weeks ago. He considers taking a trip to sickbay before deciding it isn’t worth bothering the doctor over. It’s probably nothing. Never mind that his temperature’s gone up by about nine degrees in the last several minutes—temperature fluctuations are not unknown to Engineering. He begins scans for a similar subroutine’s alignment on Deck Twelve. 

He finds it a more boring pastime than usual. That in and of itself is not nearly as distressing as the idea that he finds his work _boring_. Vorik is not prone to such judgments on a regular basis. It’s simply work: not something to be entertaining or otherwise. 

And yet he finds it dull, and he’s getting hotter, and he wants to do something _else_ , although he can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, and he’s finding his extremities oddly difficult to accurately control. He’s ravenously hungry but not for food. 

He’s breathing very heavily. 

Suddenly, his fingers stop. His eyes widen accordingly, the rest of his face attempting to remain passive. His back is very rigid. 

He thinks he might know what it is. Or what’s possible. 

He hopes he’s wrong.

* * *

For the first time in his entire Starfleet commission, Vorik leaves for lunch precisely one minute early, ducking out before B’Elanna can catch him. Engineering has become ridiculously stifling, and he needs... something. He knows that food won’t assuage his hunger, but he has to try. Perhaps Neelix has something on the menu that’s adequately distracting. For whatever reason, he finds the thought of Neelix’s overtly cheerful face more displeasing than usual. 

He finds most of the crew scattered around the mess hall to be unusually... displeasing. He doesn’t exactly feel hostile, but the thought of feeling anything beyond neutrality for people who are essentially doing nothing of consequence towards him is irrational and strange. He needs options if he’s going to get through this. Voyager has none.

He’s so busy surveying the room for that one mysterious _thing_ he wants that he doesn’t notice the man moving towards him. A second later, he’s knocked nearly off his feet, and the other man falls to the floor, a tray of yam fries clattering down and a glass shattering, water sloshing everywhere. Vorik’s crouching down in a heartbeat. 

Harry Kim’s wincing, his pants a little damp from the water and his legs spread, hands behind him. As soon as he sees Vorik, he blushes pink, quickly hurrying to right his tray and replace the food on it. While Vorik remains frozen, Harry splutters, “Sorry, sorry. That was my fault, Vorik, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Vorik begins to help Harry, collecting fries. He can feel a few sets of eyes on them, and it makes him bristle. He’s bumped into Harry a few times before, though not literally, not like this, of course. After a couple years stuck out here with only each other, it’s hard not to know everyone on board. The bridge and Engineering in particular are intimately connected. Vorik’s never shared more than passing pleasantries with Harry, however. 

Yet Vorik’s mind is referring to him as ‘Harry’ instead of ‘Ensign Kim.’ To be fair, Harry’s returning the favour. They are the same rank. They have the same gold uniform. As Vorik places a fry on Harry’s dish, his hand brushes over the back of Harry’s hand. 

He shudders. 

He’s embarrassed a moment later, and he hides it the best he can, although he’s sure Harry saw the strange reaction. It isn’t his fault. He still needs to control it. The blood fever is... very persuasive. 

He has the sudden overwhelming urge to pin Harry to the floor and fuck his brains out right in the middle of the mess hall, use soup for lube and make him scream loud enough to drown even Neelix out. Vorik could probably get away with it. Harry is of an acceptable age and species that their matching would not be inappropriate. It’s mostly humans and a few Bajorans in the room. None of them are strong enough to stop him, not before he makes Harry _his_.

That’s a shameful thought. Hardly logical. The floor is too hard here; it would hurt Harry’s back. And voyeurs would lessen his enjoyment. Vorik’s head twitches to the side. He pulls back his hand. He shouldn’t have picked those up—shouldn’t have touched food. 

He clears his throat and says in the most level voice he can muster, “I apologize, Ensign. It is I who was not watching where I was going.”

Harry grins, eyebrows rising. Perhaps he doesn’t think a Vulcan capable of being clumsy. Vorik slides both hands along Harry’s arms, rising slowly to his feet and taking Harry with him. He can feel _Harry_ through the uniform and doesn’t want to let go. 

Harry glances a little oddly at one of his hands but still mumbles, “Uh, thanks.”

Vorik nods curtly. He forces himself to withdraw his grip. They’re standing very close, almost touching. 

Vorik can smell Harry; gentle and subtle, like Vulcans like, and just a little spicy. _Exotic._ Acceptable, pleasant. 

Harry steps around Vorik, and Vorik watches him go.

* * *

One of B’Elanna’s tests requires data from the bridge, and she tasks Vorik with retrieving it. Vorik could reroute an Engineering console to obtain the results, but instead, he takes a PADD up to the bridge himself. The turbolift seems to take longer than usual. He didn’t sleep at all last night. He stayed wide-awake, rigid as a board, hands clenched at his side, mind reeling and reason disintegrating. There were moments of intense pain wherein he considered visiting the doctor, then swiftly rejected it. It doesn’t matter if the doctor is a hologram. This is an exclusively Vulcan matter. 

He’s involving humans. The turbolift doors open. He’s reeling again in seconds, but he forces himself to remain as normal as possible. He also spent a little time meditating last night. As far as he can tell, it had no effect. 

He has no intention of letting Commander Tuvok become aware of his predicament. He chooses a console on the opposite side of the bridge. 

The console is next to Harry. When he glances sideways, Harry greets him with a smile, continuing on as though Vorik’s entire world isn’t abruptly upside down and leaking lava. Officers coming on and off the bridge for silent work is perfectly normal. Vorik can smell Harry from where he’s standing. 

Harry has good reflexes. He’s almost as fast as Vorik on his own console, working just as efficiently. Harry’s worked himself up, if not officially, in a command chain capacity. He has Captain Janeway’s respect, and that’s certainly something to consider. Captain Janeway has gotten them out of several seemingly hopeless situations, and like the rest of the crew, Vorik can’t help but respect her. There are only a few eligible officers in Captain Janeway’s inner circle. Add to that considerable bridge success on numerous occasions and knowledge on several other departments besides his own, and Harry’s a very promising individual. Not to mention he’s easily, in Vorik’s personal opinion, the most aesthetically pleasing person on the ship. 

Harry is a worthy candidate, deserving of consideration. Vorik doesn’t have many options or hours left to consider. 

Harry asks quietly, “What’re you doing?”

Vorik answers simply, “Retrieving information for Lieutenant Torres.” He can’t elaborate, as his blood is rushing too quickly and he doesn’t want to risk exposure. He does, however, look up. His gaze lingers longer than necessary. After a minute, Harry’s brows furrow curiously. 

Vorik looks back at the console and forces himself to mentally recite the information he’s downloading purely as a distraction mechanism.

* * *

It’s getting far harder to control. He’s not sure how much longer he can competently manage his job. But he’s determined to do so. He’ll meditate if he must. He should’ve chosen a mate before this. Courted, at least. He knew this would have to happen eventually, but somehow, he never planned for it. 

When the need becomes undeniable, he gives into himself, rolling over onto his stomach. The lights are all off, the blankets up to his shoulders, the blinds closed. He buries his face in the pillow, refusing to acknowledge how green his cheeks probably are. He lets his hips grind slowly into the mattress, covered only by his boxers. This is the only logical thing to do. He cannot retain any decent ability to work after missing two nights of sleep. Even a Vulcan needs rest in trying times like this. He must remedy the situation. If this will soothe his mind, so be it. His fingers fist in the sheets, head eventually turning to the side with squeezed-shut eyes. He tries not to think of anything, tries simply to let his body get what it wants. It wants to go faster. His hips begin to work up a more harried rhythm, until he’s shamefully humping the bed like an animal. 

Then his traitorous head conjures images that seem only natural in his waning state of mind. He thinks of being in this bed, not alone, but atop a pretty human, stretched out and stripped bare. He thinks of what Harry Kim’s creamy skin would look like entirely exposed. He knows what human anatomy is like, but he has no real experience. What are Harry’s nipples like, he wonders? Would they respond to his touch, to the careful petting and tugging of his fingertips? What would the lean line of Harry’s neck feel like beneath him; if he breathed against it, would he be able to feel Harry’s pulse? He could nuzzle his nose into the side of Harry’s face and breathe in everything that Harry has to offer. He could grind his body into Harry’s soft, pliant one, his Vulcan strength pinning down a more vulnerable prey. He wonders what Harry’s cock looks like. Humans are generally inferior; it would probably be smaller than Vorik’s. He doesn’t know why he likes that. 

He wants a virile mate. He also wants someone he can dominate and ravish, someone who can compliment him in all the right ways, someone with certain Vulcan capabilities and other, advantageous differences. Harry is a generally calm and reasonable individual, but he’s also excitable. He’d probably give way deliciously under pleasure, melting and going wild in Vorik’s hands, always so _cute_. If Vorik forged orders from a higher-up for Harry to accompany him into a supply closet and seduced Harry into stroking his cock there, Harry probably would. Vorik licks his lips and pictures it, twisting a sick, insane fantasy, something he would’ve _never_ done two days ago. Now it seems the only way. He pictures Harry’s ass, the way it looked walking away from him the other day, tight and young and exceptionally tantalizing. 

Lucky Tuvok. Getting to stand on the bridge all day with such a scrumptious little thing. It makes Vorik’s stomach twist with jealousy. His hips slow, then speed up again. He humps the bed harder, now picturing Harry bound to his bed with an archaic array of black silk—a very old, forbidden Vulcan tradition. All it would take is a simple trip to the replicator and some knotting practice, and Harry would be utterly helpless. He’d tie up Harry’s hands, but he wouldn’t tie Harry’s mouth—Harry has an adorable, warm voice. He’d let it wash over him while he prepared Harry’s taut ass, slicking it up and stretching it. Harry would need a lot of preparing. Vorik imagines he’d be incredibly tight around Vorik’s sizeable cock, and he’d feel so, so good...

Vorik buries his moan in the pillow, refusing to acknowledge it happened. Or maybe he’d make use of the holodecks and fuck Harry in his own home on Vulcan, right on his porch overlooking the Voroth Sea. Harry would fit right in on Vulcan. His sleek, dark hair and trim build aren’t particularly outlandish, though his eyes are somewhat exotic, and Vorik thinks that’s something he especially likes. Harry isn’t particularly ridiculous for a human. He’s intelligent. He’d manage. He’d look good in one of Vorik’s robes. He’d look good in Vorik’s bed. He’d look good on Vorik’s cock. 

Vorik’s thrusts become ever more ferocious, his mouth nearly snarling. He can’t manage. His hand snakes down. He slithers it beneath his body and wraps it around his cock, squeezing to mimic the pressure of another’s body. Daydreams are not acceptable for a Vulcan.

These aren’t daydreams. They’re plans for the future. 

Vorik humps his own hand and pretends he’s brutally fucking Harry’s ass, until it’s more than he can take. He roars into his pillow and spills over his hand, feeling dizzy.

He feels like he’s going insane. 

He sleeps, but his dreams pick right up where his head just left off, putting even more sweat on his already sauna-like skin.

* * *

He woke up early. He took a shower. He meditated.

It did _nothing_ and he wants to wreck inexplicable havoc on everything he sees and he must be calm he is a Starfleet officer but he just wants to shove his cock into something and devastate this entire hallway. 

He takes an unsteady, large breath.

He turns a corner, and Harry Kim is at the end, staring down at a PADD. He’s walking toward Vorik. There’s a strand of black hair that’s fallen out of place, down his forehead, caught in one set of eyelashes. He’s clearly concentrating. Smart little thing. 

It’s easy to grab his arm and steer him down a sudden turn and down into a lesser-used corridor, completely empty. Harry’s barely gotten out a confused, “What?” Vorik backs him right into a wall, shooting one hand out to either side of Harry, pinning him in. Harry leans back, but there’s nowhere to go, looking confused and impressively or naively not afraid. He licks his bottom lip nervously and glances down at Vorik’s mouth; Vorik’s blood spikes; in human terms, is that a sign of interest?

“I have decided you are a worthy mate,” Vorik snarls before he can even process his own words. 

Harry, clearly shocked and now concerned, knits his eyebrows together in that cute way of his. It’s not the sort of description Vorik ever attributes to anyone. Vorik’s not the sort of person he usually is. Harry squeaks, “Excuse me?” Then he licks his lips again, drawing Vorik’s eyes back to the movement, and tries to say, “You barely know me—”

“You are suitably accomplished, driven, intelligent, and beautiful,” Vorik summarizes. “Given the circumstances, you are the best possible choice, and as a Vulcan possessing superior strength and intellect, I believe I would be an asset to you as well. Furthermore, we possess similar areas of interest according to my investigation, as well as both a similar set of core values and a complimentary difference of other personality traits.” How he’s speaking coherently, he has no idea. In that moment, it’s of the utmost importance that he convince Harry of their coupling. 

Harry simply gapes at him. After a few torturous seconds, he repeats dazedly, “Beautiful?”

Vorik can’t take this. Harry’s blushing. More interest?

Vorik slams his mouth into Harry’s, fighting to be gentle. He can feel Harry gasp, and he opens his mouth to both match and swallow the movement. His tongue traces Harry’s bottom lip while his fingers slip from the wall to Harry’s shoulders, gliding down. The uniform is in the way and he wants to rip it off. 

When Vorik’s tongue nudges Harry’s, Harry drops the PADD in his hands. It clatters to the floor and hits Vorik’s boot, tumbling off. Vorik barely notices. Harry’s hands lift towards Vorik’s shoulders, but Vorik catches them before contact, needing to feel Harry’s pulse. He runs his fingers all over them, two together on each wrist, absorbing the sensation of Harry’s skin on his. He’s mapping Harry’s body. He starts with Harry’s hands, and then he slowly pushes up the sleeves of Harry’s shirt, climbing Harry’s arms. His tongue is busy in Harry’s mouth, and Harry’s leaning into him, vaguely kissing back, but more timid, one of them—Vorik can’t tell which in this state—is trembling. 

No, it’s Harry. Definitely Harry. Harry makes a keening sort of sound against him. Vorik isn’t experienced enough to get his breathing right. He has to pause for air. Harry uses that time to pant, apparently equally as devastated, “You... you’re Vulcan... are you ill...?”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Vorik growls. His grip tightens on Harry’s forearms, earning a tiny wince. “I want you to be my mate. Do you accept?” Vorik doesn’t want to ask. He knows he must. But he just wants to _take_...

Harry takes too long to answer. Somewhere in the back of his head, Vorik _knows_ it’s too soon a question; humans can’t decide something so large so fast. Harry’s flushed and hot in his grip. So Vorik stabs forward again, this time shoving his leg between Harry’s thighs. He swallows Harry’s pleasured noises and spreads Harry’s legs, pressing his crotch hard into Harry’s, grinding the way that feels right. Starfleet uniforms are far too thick. Vorik wants to feel more than this. He’s all over Harry. He ruts into Harry’s crotch and feels Harry’s forearms and hands and ravishes Harry’s mouth, until Harry finally, finally beings to respond with as much fervor as him. 

Harry presses his tongue tentatively back into Vorik’s, tilting his head slightly. Vorik has an explosion of triumph in his head; clearly this is a ‘yes.’ He smirks against Harry’s moist lips, kissing harder, feeling harder. Harry’s crotch is beginning to bulge against his. He rubs it encouragingly with his own. He pulls back to nibble on Harry’s bottom lip, making Harry moan. Just then the communicator beeps, and despite Vorik’s intense snarl, Harry mumbles, “Yes?”

 _“Where’s that diagnostic?”_ Commander Chakotay’s voice filters out. 

While Vorik possessively nips at Harry’s neck, Harry somehow manages to breathe, “C-coming, Commander.”

There’s a pause before Commander Chakotay asks, _“Are you alright, Ensign?”_

“Fine!” Harry chirps, a decibel too high. But the communicator beeps off. 

Somewhere, in the distant recesses of Vorik’s mind, he knows they have to go.

He ruts into Harry a final time, earning a languid moan, and then he shifts to Harry’s ear, hissing, “Please, tell no one of this.”

To his minor surprise, Harry nods. Vorik pecks his lips. When Vorik pulls away, Harry takes a half step towards him, hand catching on his side as though to keep him in. It takes every last bit of strength Vorik has to escape that inviting grip.

Vorik heads back the way he came, marching swiftly towards Engineering.

* * *

It’s difficult to punch in the commands accurately with how badly his hands are shaking. He’s chosen the farthest console in the most obscure corner possible. He has no interest in the pheromones of others. He keeps licking his lips, tasting _Harry_ on them. He has to key in several sequences multiple times, as he’s continually losing concentration and botching the order. 

He should go to the doctor. He can’t go the doctor. This is a _private_ matter. He shouldn’t have assaulted Harry. That’s basically what he did. Harry gave him signals, he thinks, and he’s heard that humans do that sort of thing—don’t ask before they kiss, feel some sort of illusive ‘mood’ that he doesn’t fully understand—but it’s son intangible and he still went too hard, too fast. The fact that Harry responded so well and didn’t seem to mind doesn’t excuse him; _he’s still a Vulcan and should court like one._ He should turn himself in before he hurts anyone else. But the doctor won’t be able to help him, anyway. This is a Vulcan matter. 

He wishes this weren’t his first pon farr. Then he would at least know what to do. He’s never experienced this kind of fever before, not even when he was a child. One minute something seems perfectly logical, the next he can’t believe what he was thinking. His actions are unacceptable. But his instincts are guiding him, not his head. The next moment, he can’t see that. It’s... just about the worst thing that can happen to any Vulcan. And yet... it’s a natural part of a Vulcan’s life, and in a way, after being around humans so long, he can’t help but wonder if it’s better, too choose his mate based on the human way of _feeling_ instead of betrothal as a child...

He can feel B’Elanna’s eyes on the back of his neck. It’s illogical. He can’t feel that. But he _knows_ she’s watching him. He’ll need to avoid them all. He needs to concentrate. To meditate. He _wishes_ he were on Vulcan. 

He should ask Tuvok for advice. Tuvok’s experienced many pon farrs. But this is private. He will not show Tuvok that he’s weak. This is a test of character. He can resolve this matter himself in the best possible manner. 

He finally finishes the final command sequence and moves on to his next assignment.

* * *

They’re on the same shift. They take lunch at the same time. Vorik takes a salad from the replicator (Neelix pours too many flavours onto his food) to a small table at the back. 

He stands stiffly beside it and asks, “May I join you?”

Harry glances up, cheeks slightly pink. Tom Paris looks up, bemused. “Sure...?”

Vorik was speaking to Harry. He waits for Harry’s answer, who does so with a sort of shy smile that makes Vorik’s chest constrict. “It’s fine; pull up a chair.”

Vorik places his tray on the table, nudging Harry’s and Paris’ over. Paris is an undisciplined wildcard, as far as Vorik understands him. As Harry seems to prefer his company, Vorik believes he could provide adequate balance to Paris’ often irrational behaviour in Harry’s life. 

He pushes a chair up to the side and takes his seat, sitting rigidly and pressing his lower leg into Harry’s. 

Harry doesn’t shift away, as he so easily could, and his cheeks do grow darker. More signs? Harry’s eating slices of an Earth fruit with his fingers. He picks one up, looking doggedly forward at Paris, who instantly begins talking again. His words are utter nonsense, perhaps over a holodeck program Vorik is unfamiliar with, but Harry seems to understand him. Harry lifts the slice of fruit to his mouth, and Vorik _stares_ at the way Harry’s lips close around it. 

The human need to eat with their hands is decidedly... sensual. Vorik eats his salad with his chopsticks, not adding anything to the conversation and merely watching Harry lick up stray trails of juice from the fruit pieces, ultimately tightening his lips around each one. When this happens, Harry’s fingertips will inevitably meet his lips. One or twice, he licks them off. It’s driving Vorik somewhat wild. 

Vorik is rubbing Harry’s leg with his foot under the table. Harry is avoiding looking at him but pressing his leg back into the touch. Vorik wants to eat him alive in a purely sexual sense. Wants to throw him over the table and fuck him senseless. Why should Harry be full of fruit when he could be full of Vorik’s cock, instead? Vorik only requires one hand to eat. He places the other discretely on Harry’s thigh beneath the table. Harry finally looks over at him. 

Paris abruptly stops talking and follows suit. Then his face scrunches up, and he asks, “’You alright, Ensign?”

“I am fine.”

“...You’re shaking.”

Vorik glares at Paris and grunts out, “I am _fine._ ”

Raising both eyebrows, Paris mutters, “Suit yourself.” He pushes his plate a few centimeters back and tells Harry, “I’m going to go see what Neelix has for dessert.”

Harry nods. “C’ya.” Paris gets up and disappears from the table, and only then is Vorik able to relax slightly, the jealousy of another in close proximity to Harry dissipating.

As soon as Paris is a safe distance away, Harry leans over the table and hisses quietly, privately, “What’re you doing? And what were you doing the other day?”

“I explained that to you,” Vorik answers as calmly and quietly as possible. “I must choose a mate immediately. I have decided I want you to be my mate. Do you accept?” He squeezes Harry’s thigh lightly. Harry bites his bottom lip but doesn’t say anything one way or the other. Humans are... confusing. 

Because he has no idea how long Paris will be away for and he needs to do _something_ , he adds, “Meet me in the holodeck one hour after shift if you wish to consider me.” Harry doesn’t have time to give an indication whether or not he’ll join. Paris returns with three chocolate cupcakes. They’re too sweet for Vorik. 

He offers his to Harry, who thanks Vorik and eats it with his hands.

* * *

This is absolutely _unbearable_. Vorik feels like he’s being torn apart at the seams. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. He has the instinct to protect his mate, and ravaging Harry senseless on shift would not be wise for Harry’s future career. Somehow, his failing mind reasons, it’ll make perfect sense after shift. He’s already secured the holodeck. He’ll make it like the beach. He’s already broken into Harry’s personal files—one of the many perks of having an engineer’s mind and Engineering access, though usually his moral compass prevents hacking others’ information—and Harry has several holodeck programs central to a beach location. Vorik’s already selected something out of the database he’s deemed appropriate. 

He’s going to fuck Harry in the sand. Thinking that is the only thing that keeps him going, that keeps him from breaking down and ripping this console right out of the wall. 

As soon as the door’s open, Vorik’s head snaps around. He knows when his mate is coming, even if they haven’t technically bonded yet. Vorik’s on the upper level, standing behind a large console. Harry walks right over to him, nervously holding a PADD and saying, “I’m supposed to deliver this to B’Elanna.”

“She is below, scanning the warp core.” Speaking isn’t easy. 

Harry looks... far more uneasy. He puts the PADD down atop the console. He steps behind it. 

Vorik takes a step forward and just barely stops himself from slamming Harry into the wall. Harry steps back. He says quickly, “I spoke to the doctor. I... I know what’s wrong.”

As Vorik’s eyes widen, a number of unproductive emotions flicker through him: shame, fear, rage. Rage is what wins, and Vorik snarls furiously, as low as he can manage, “He had no right to divulge my personal matters.”

Frowning and looking simultaneously apologetic and fuckable, Harry explains, “He didn’t want to, but when I told him your symptoms and... well, admitted to basically being jumped by you, he finally informed of... of your ‘condition.’”

“I am fine,” Vorik hisses. Then adds, more than a little disdainfully, “And I will not see the doctor—this is a purely Vulcan matter.”

“And human,” Harry says with a forced smile that dies quickly at Vorik’s lack of reciprocation. Coughing once, Harry continues, “He said you don’t have to. ...So long as someone... ah... ‘takes care’ of your... urge.”

The correct thing to do would be to insist that the burden should not be Harry’s to bear. That it’s alright. Maybe ask how Harry’s feeling or apologize for putting him in this situation. Instead, Vorik merely asks, “Will you?”

Harry looks uncomfortable but not uninterested. Vorik’s only vaguely aware that he can’t trust his judgment. “Uh... why, again? I mean, why me? I know there’s limited options here, but you could... well, surely there’s someone better you could find...”

“I do not want someone else,” Vorik insists. “I have explained myself. While I am aware we do not know each other that well, we will have plenty of time later to remedy that. For now, there is no time. Besides, I am quite certain you will satisfy me. Your position aboard this vessel, your mind, and your appearance all make you the optimal choice. I am fully prepared to do whatever is necessary to satisfy you in return.” He means that. He’ll do whatever odd human mating rituals are required. He stares at Harry very intently, fists tight at his side, ready to grab. 

Harry mumbles, shaking his head, “This is all really fast... yeah, we’re out here to explore and have new experiences, and we run into the unexpected all the time...” He looks up at Vorik with an imploring, confused little smile. “I guess I just never thought I’d be... ah... ‘courted’... quite like this.”

Vorik exhales heavily and raises one eyebrow. This is growing physically painful. He’s not sure how he’s still standing. He should throw Harry right across this console and merge them right together...

“I’ll think about it,” Harry sighs, right as B’Elanna gets off the lift and storms over to them. 

“Hey, Starfleet, ‘you got my schematics?”

* * *

It’s a generic sort of beach, halfway between an Earth-like one and a Vulcan-like one with perhaps a little bit of Bajor thrown in. It already existed in the database, as Vorik is hardly in the right mindset to create something new, although he has tinkered enough to make the temperature high enough for the actual Vulcan preference and put the sun low on the horizon. Everything’s awash in a pale, purple glow, the sand nearly white and the water clear. A various assortment of tropical plants looms in the distance, back up the beach, and numerous species of fish swim a little ways out. Vorik sits in the sand and stares at them, willing himself to stay put and not storm off to find the man he wants. 

He will wait here. He will wait here. Harry will make the logical choice; he’s sure. He’ll wait right here.

He’s hungry and frustrated and perspiring. He takes off his jacket and tosses it aside, leaving the tight, purplish turtle neck underneath. The material’s thin, but still too much. He’s going to rip it off as soon as he rips of Harry’s. Perhaps he should’ve dressed for the occasion.

A part of him is sure Harry won’t show, and another part of him is certain Harry will.

Then the doors of the holodeck open behind him, and Harry strolls in, still in uniform and looking nervous. He takes a few determined steps down the sand, the arch disappearing behind him. 

As he glances about the room, he mumbles, “This is... nice.”

“I believed it would be to your liking,” Vorik says dryly. He doesn’t stand up. He holds out his hand. 

Harry says slowly, “I’ve never... uh... done this with a man before.”

“I will not disappoint you,” Vorik insists.

Harry blushes. “N-no! I didn’t mean you would. I just mean... uh, never mind.” And he shakes his head, but he takes the next step forward. He reaches out, and the second he’s in range, Vorik grabs his arm and tugs him down to the sand. Harry stumbles, catching his balance just in time. Vorik begins to unzip his jacket. “H-hey!”

“It is hot in here, I will remove only this,” Vorik grumbles, guttural and unlike himself. He wants to take more, but he’ll do what he must to please his mate. He slips the jacket off Harry’s shoulders; Harry’s wearing the short-sleeved undershirt. It clings to his figure, stretched over the muscles of his chest. The sight makes Vorik even hungrier. 

Vorik can’t think straight. He runs his hands up Harry’s bare arms, shivering at the sensation. His index and middle fingers are held together: a Vulcan gesture. The touch is electric; they’re meld-compatible. Harry’s skin trembles beneath his. He says quietly, as Vorik traces up to his shoulders, “This feels really... intimate...”

“It is,” Vorik hisses. It’s one of the ways a Vulcan gets to know their mate. He wants to map every curve and line of Harry’s body. He slides up and over, ghosting towards, then up, Harry’s neck. He cups Harry’s face. Harry’s eyes close. Vorik leans forward, still holding on. 

Harry tastes like chocolate. Perhaps he stopped in at the cafeteria before coming here. His lips are soft and moist and open easily, his mouth hot and smooth. Vorik’s tongue fucks it repeatedly, jabbing in and out at different locations. Harry moans, tilting slightly and trying to reciprocate but mostly just letting Vorik take him. That’s exactly what Vorik wants, and he can’t help but smirk a little. He chose well. Harry groans when Vorik sucks on his tongue. Vorik doesn’t have much experience in this field, but he just does what his instincts tell him, and it seems to be working. Harry seems to like it. It’s better that he’s never been with another man. It makes Vorik think that his body, his attentions, are what switched Harry over. He can draw Harry to him. He thumbs Harry’s cheeks and claims Harry’s mouth over and over again. 

Then he pulls back to nuzzle into Harry’s face, fingers sliding back through Harry’s hair. Harry makes a needy sound and breathes, “That was... uhnnn...” He cuts off as Vorik shifts his body closer, baring into Harry’s, legs tangling and fronts colliding. “Ahh... What happens... next...?”

Vorik drags one hand around to Harry’s forehead and hisses, “I make you _mine_.”

The mind meld surges through before he even realizes he’s initiating it. Suddenly he’s _inside_ Harry, right inside Harry’s head, and he can _feel_ Harry’s shock, Harry’s confusion, Harry’s _desire._ It’s there. He understands Harry in a way he never could before, and he hears clarinet music and the cheering for different sports, Harry tossing a volleyball and playing tennis and winning a match of Parrises squares. He can see Harry playing kal-toh, and he can feel the way Harry misses his parents, taste what Harry tasted when he tried Plomeek soup—an entirely different view on an experience Vorik’s had many, many times. Vorik slips below Harry’s skin, existing in his own mind too, with Harry watching him build the Delta Flyer and playing with his Sehlat. They’re growing closer in seconds than he’s grown with anyone else in the past three years. It’s... _immensely_ satisfying.

When his fingers slip away, they carry a tingling joy with them, something he can hardly comprehend. Harry’s breathing very heavily, eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated. His lips are parted. 

Vorik captures them again and shoves Harry right over, landing fully on top of him. Harry gasps, and Vorik doesn’t pause. Now Vorik knows Harry _wants_ this. Harry’s scared of the newness of it and the worry that he won’t satisfy, but he’s interested and he’s horny, though his desire could never rival what Vorik’s is right now. Their mental bond lingers, feeding Vorik all of Harry’s broiling emotions. Vorik pauses only to jerk his shirt over his head—his sweat’s soaking through it and he needs to feel skin on skin. 

Harry stares at Vorik’s bare chest. Vorik gives him a few seconds to look. 

Then Vorik grabs a fistful of the material over Harry’s stomach and yanks it right apart—it tears into shreds. Harry half-shouts, “Hey!” But it does nothing. They’ll replicate a new one. Vorik scrapes it all off, pulling the remnants over Harry’s shoulders and grabbing all the shards, tossing them aside. Harry’s sweating a little too, probably from the heat. He’s got the faint outline of a near-six-pack, though his body isn’t nearly as hard as Vorik’s. It looks softer. His nipples are small and dusty brown. There’s no hair on his chest. Vorik slams them together, sliding slickly along each other’s muscles and mouth descending all over Harry’s neck. There’s something horribly feral about him—he can’t help it. He wants to _mark_ Harry. He wants everyone to know that Harry’s _his_. He bites Harry, hard. Harry gasps, writhing. It feels wonderful. 

Vorik moans and scrapes his nails down Harry’s chest, drinking up the delicious mewling it elicits. He begins to fiddle with the zipper over Harry’s pants, and Harry turns his head to the side to escape Vorik’s mouth, murmuring, “Already?”

“I want you so badly,” Vorik growls. “You are a gorgeous mate.”

Harry moans again, sounding similar to a Sehlat in heat. It makes Vorik inexplicably harder. He needs to be inside Harry, be one with Harry, _now_.

But instead, he must prepare. He doesn’t want to hurt this precious gift. He wants to fuck Harry into pieces, but he also wants to treasure Harry tight. He opens Harry’s pants and slips them right down Harry’s thighs, lifting Harry’s legs and parting them around his sides. Harry dazedly obliges, wrapping them in place. Vorik locks eyes with Harry as he tugs Harry’s underwear right down his hips. 

When Harry’s cock springs free, his face is completely red. Vorik glances at the hard shaft, slightly more curved than his and much pinker, with a mushroom head and a tiny hole leaking one bead of precum. It’s similar to Vorik’s and fair-sized. Perhaps a few centimeters shorter, roughly the same girth. Vorik bends Harry’s knees right to his shoulders. 

Vorik stares at the round globes of Harry’s ass, smooth and beautiful beneath his tight balls. Vorik reaches down to cup both cheeks, squeezing lightly. He runs his fingers all over the warm flesh, setting in to knead it and fondle it. Harry moans below him, gasping, “Ah... you’ll... you’ll use lube, right?” 

Vorik merely nods. He researched this. Though, truth be told, he would probably have forgotten in the chaos of desire. All he wants is to be deep inside Harry, and he doesn’t need extra steps delaying that. Nevertheless, he practically shouts, “Computer, bottle of lubrication!”

Surprisingly, the computer doesn’t make him specify. A clear bottle simply appears next to him in the sand, and he snatches it up, immediately upending it onto his other hand. His hands are shaking so hard that it gets all over, sliding between his fingers. He brings his hands back to Harry’s ass, sliding his fingers between the cheeks until he finds Harry’s hole. The second he presses his fingertip to it, Harry gasps. 

If he were in his right mind, he might ask Harry, one more time, if this is okay. But he can’t do that right now, and doesn’t really need to—the lingering bond reasserts Harry’s eagerness. Vorik taps the puckered ring of muscle a few times before pushing against it, enough for it to give way. 

He shudders once he’s inside. It only pops in a few centimeters, but it’s still a part of _him_ inside _Harry_. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is insanely compelling. Harry’s walls are silky smooth and incredibly hot, and there’s a bit of suction that seems to want to pull him in. He presses further as slowly as he can manage. He read about this. He needs to... needs to stretch Harry. There’s no way his cock would fit like this. It’s too tight. But he can make it fit. He knows that. He gets his finger to the knuckle and pistons it in and out, drawing it out again to roll his finger around enough to make room for a second. Then he’s scissoring Harry wider, and Harry’s thighs are trembling around him. Harry licks his lips. Vorik’s focusing on his task.

“Is this going to hurt?” Harry asks a bit breathlessly. Evidently, he didn’t do as much research as he should’ve. 

Vorik didn’t either. “I do not know.” He doesn’t care. He’ll take a bit of pain for this. If it hurts Harry, he’ll simply fuck Harry hard enough that Harry won’t be able to notice anything but pleasure, and he’ll use their bond to drown out anything that’s left. In this moment, it makes perfect sense to Vorik. He sends a wave of reassuring thoughts through their bond anyway. He can tell it works; he sees Harry’s lashes flutter. He adds a third finger. Harry’s looking blankly up at the sky. 

Vorik growls, “Look at me.” And Harry does as he’s told. Vorik smirks—an unnatural feeling for his usually tight lips. An obedient mate would be nice. Harry’s well trained. He did excellently at the Academy. He’ll be excellent at Vorik’s side.

He’s ready. Vorik’s sure of it. He can feel Harry’s need through their bond, a flickering presence in the back of his head. He slips his fingers out and sits up, and he opens his pants, pulling out his cock. It’s completely hard and pulsing with need, apparently a solely Vulcan trait. Harry _stares_ at it, then gulps. 

Vorik wipes the rest of the lube on his hands off on his cock, then rests the tip against Harry’s entrance. He takes a moment just to soak this in; he’s finally going to get satisfaction. Harry opens his mouth but says nothing. 

Vorik slams inside, all in one motion, adoring Harry’s shrill scream. Vorik lunges down immediately, pinning Harry to the sand, grinding their chests together and sliding as far in as he can, parting Harry’s walls easily, fully sheathing his cock inside Harry’s vulnerable body. He knows Harry wasn’t lying about being a virgin to this, but he isn’t anymore. Now he’s _Vorik’s_. He’s the most wonderful feeling Vorik’s ever experienced. It’s so, so tight, and he can feel Harry’s mingled pleasure and pain dancing into his head, the shudders that rack Harry’s fragile body ricocheting right up his cock. He knows that Harry can feel his pleasure too, if only mentally. Vorik will make him feel it all over. Vorik _moans_ , telling Harry in a raspy, engulfed voice, “You are _perfect_.”

“Kiss me,” Harry begs, quiet and whimpering. Grinning like the monster he now is, Vorik happily obliges. He pulls his cock slowly out, watching Harry’s breath flutter out in rapid succession, and then he shoves in and rushes down. His mouth against Harry’s stifles Harry’s scream, and he runs his tongue along the seam of Harry’s lips until they open, trembling and unable to do anything but let Vorik ravage them. Vorik’s cock slides mostly out again, and on the slam in, he pauses for a fraction of a second. He knows he’s found the perfect angle for humans. Harry’s entire body shudders, head exploding in pleasure. Vorik begins to pummel it, again and again. 

He fucks Harry like a wild animal with both his cock and tongue. Harry takes it beautifully, writhing and moaning and far more responsive than any Vulcan partner could ever be. The muscles in his thighs seem to spasm around Vorik’s hips, the heels of his feet digging into Vorik’s lower back, holding him there. His hands lift to tentatively hold Vorik’s shoulders, and Vorik mewls encouragingly. His own hands are clutching tight to Harry’s sides, probably hard enough to leave bruises. He needs to hold Harry in place—each thrust threatens to send Harry flying forward. Harry’s fingers slide over Vorik’s shoulder blades and spine, holding on. 

It’s so, _so_ good. The sensations are unbearable. Vorik feels distinctly unworthy. He pushes his adoration through the bond—how much he _wants_ Harry, how much he... he _loves_ Harry, and he will be a good mate. He’ll treat Harry right. He’ll make Harry’s life everything Harry ever wanted it to be. It’s hard to tell if Harry’s receiving all the messages—he seems to be completely overwhelmed with feelings. 

Vorik might break him. Vorik can’t help it. He pounds Harry into the artificial beach, and he devours Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t ever want this to end. The feverish rush of his blood is finally at peace, encouraging him but in tow, completely on his side. Harry’s so _tight_. Harry’s insides seem to be sucking at him. The pressure is magnificent. He’s practically seeing stars. He needs to see Harry. He tears his mouth away, letting Harry pant for air. He hovers just centimeters above Harry while he fucks Harry just as brutally as before, and he watches Harry, locking eyes. Harry seems barely able to keep his own open, but he manages. Vorik hisses fiercely, “ _Mine_.”

Harry nods weakly, mumbling, “Yours.”

That’s just what Vorik needed. 

The orgasm rips through his body like a tidal wave, rolling over all his systems and heating everything up past its limits. His fingers tighten in Harry’s waist, forehead pressing into Harry’s, teeth grit in a wild growl. A torrential pleasure floods his mind, shared between them, and he’s so busy seeping it out of every pore that he can barely register Harry’s scream. His cock bursts a river of cum into Harry, hips slowing to a grind as he fills Harry up. He pushes it all in, still fully sheathed, and he pours stream after stream. Something wet and sticky is trickling along his stomach, and Harry’s muscles seem to spasm around him—Harry’s come too. Vorik didn’t even touch his cock. Vorik didn’t need to. Vorik tilts his head and kisses Harry as their mutual releases take over them. Harry drunkenly kisses back.

It takes a small eternity for Vorik to finish. If Harry were capable of child-bearing, there’d be no way he’d come out of this not pregnant. As it is, Vorik simply enjoys plugging him up. Harry’s a whimpering mess. Vorik adds a few extra grinds even after he’s spent. 

Then he pushes up onto his hands, fully aware he should pull out but not wanting to. Harry’s fingers loosen against his shoulder blades, slipping away and landing heavily against the sand. Vorik has the distinct urge to pin them down. 

Instead, he slowly pulls his hips back, pulling out of Harry with a sick squelching sound. Harry shudders at being released. 

Vorik slowly lies down next to him. Vorik lies on his back, staring blankly up at the fake sky. He’s breathing very hard, cock not entirely limp. He can feel the pon farr ebbing back, but it’s not entirely gone. 

After a few moments of silence and panting and generally basking in the beautiful after glow, Harry mumbles, “Was I... uh... any good?”

Harry should be able to feel through the bond just how pleased with him Vorik is, but nonetheless, Vorik says, “You were excellent.”

“Do you feel better?” Harry looks sideways, and Vorik follows suit. Their sides are touching. Harry’s legs have slumped back to the floor. His chest is rising and falling far more prominently than usual. 

Vorik frowns. He isn’t a doctor. This is his first pon farr. He was never adequately told about it. “I do not know.” After a pause, he adds, “I believe the need is somewhat eased.”

Harry smiles weakly. There’s another moment where his eyes slide leisurely along Vorik’s body, cheeks still flushed and eyelids still mostly down. “We... we did this all backwards.”

Vorik nods curtly. “That is the nature of this entire mission, it seems. Out in the delta quadrant, there have been many less than ideal circumstances wherein rapid and unlikely decisions must be made. ...However, I believe my analysis that you would be a compatible mate was entirely correct.”

Harry chuckles lightly. “Well, if nothing else, at least we know the sex’ll be good.” Vorik attempts to smile back, though he can feel himself returning to his usual state, wherein smiles are a rare occurrence and humorous anecdotes are not encouraged. Harry sighs, “What now?”

“We will rest until your body has recovered.” Vorik’s pulse spikes, adding, “Perhaps then we will couple once more, as it seems my condition is stubborn.” At Harry’s raised eyebrows, Vorik simply presses on. “I would very much like for you to return to my quarters with me for the night, or, if you wish, we shall return to yours. I will attempt to return to duty tomorrow, though you may require a trip to the doctor just to be safe. After that, we may continue our duties and commence human mating rituals in between.”

Harry laughs. It’s a lovely sound, though foreign. Vorik doesn’t quite understand.

Vorik’s fingers twitch and crawl sideways, sliding up around the back of Harry’s hand. Harry turns it over so their fingers can intertwine. Vorik warmly squeezes Harry’s hand. 

“Would you, perhaps, be interested in a ‘candlelit’ dinner in my quarters?”

Harry laughs even louder before asking, “Now you’re asking me out on a date?”

Vorik nods. “Do you accept?”

Grinning, Harry says, “Yeah.”

“Thank you for agreeing to be with me for this.”

“...I actually was kinda interested from the beginning, though it was a little intimidating and I was pretty confused,” Harry admits. “But I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Vorik decides, “That is understandable.” Humans, after all, always seem to understand Vulcans as little as Vorik understands them. However, he’s very glad Harry got over it. 

Cheeks staining a bit darker and voice suddenly a bit slower, Harry asks, “Uh... now that... now that the pon farr’s ending... do you still want me?”

Vorik doesn’t even have to think about it. “This is a natural process for Vulcans. While I am unsure if my condition has entirely passed, I can assure you that I still want you and that will not change.”

Harry’s nearly glowing. His fingers tighten around Vorik’s. 

He hesitates, then leans a little forward. Vorik rolls onto his side to help. Harry closes the distance, kissing him chastely. Vorik kisses back. 

The only thing in the bond is happiness.


End file.
